


Filthy

by threadoflife



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sugar Daddy, Topping from the Bottom, corsets, sugar daddy draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 07:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15092060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threadoflife/pseuds/threadoflife
Summary: Draco liked it filthy. Nothing was quite as filthy as Harry in his lap riding him, wearing a corset Draco had had tailored for him.





	Filthy

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t even look at me... came upon me and killed me
> 
> First and only drarry ever
> 
> First posted here
> 
> http://wssh-watson.tumblr.com/post/173748364532/never-shipped-drarry-but-now-i-need-a-sugar-daddy

The sneer had slid off Draco’s face a long time ago.

His face was softness: bright eyes, slack lips, the curve of his eyebrows an overwhelmed, pained arch. His hands on Harry’s hips were trembling things, spidery fingers clutching the strong bones, nails digging in. His thighs, quivering, under the warm, heavy weight of Harry. His heart, racing, madly.

He’d watched Harry saunter towards the bed, lips curved in a sneer even as his eyes traced Harry’s lithe, wiry form with hunger. He’d said, coolly, “What are you playing at, Potter,” because God, that arrogance with which Harry carried himself always made him want to smack that equally arrogant mouth. He hadn’t been wrong, either. That arrogant mouth had turned sly; Harry had smiled down at him that way, entirely infuriating, patted his cheek—the bloody Gryffindor nerve of him—and said, “Saying thank you,” and, “Cos at least I’m that decent, unlike you,” and then he’d proceeded, calm and lazy as the tide—and so utterly, utterly entitled—to climb onto Draco’s lap.

How he loathed him. How he loathed that golden, fucking boy with his mouth and his hands and his hips. How he loathed the way he went under, wholly, when Harry had him. Every single fucking time. Merlin…

Draco clutched at Harry’s hips, his cheek pressed to Harry’s chest. Right before his face, Harry’s left nipple was a sore, swollen thing, still hard, begging for more. Insatiable. He’d been riding Draco into the bed for nigh half an hour. Draco was a sweaty mess, and Harry—with his unkempt, boorish ways—had his hair fisted, disgusting as it was. Sweaty fingers in sweaty hair. Such filth.

Draco liked it filthy. Harry knew.

“You’re so good to me,” Harry was whispering into that filthy hair roughly, nuzzling his nose through it as though it were precious and clean. “All pureblood snobbish nonsense, but look at you. You just want to spoil me, don’t you. Such a good boy.”

“Shut the—” A hard twist of the hips: Draco let out wet gasp. “—the fuck up, Potter.”

“Had it tailored specifically for me,” Harry went on, breathless and relentless, “didn’t you?”

He was right. The corset he wore was tailored for him. Draco had just had to do it, you see: the finest material he could find in a corset, rich floral patterns of burgundy red and dark green intertwined. There were gold and silver ornaments, real good and silver, of course. Harry was such a fine man: he could have only the best.

How he touched Draco, Draco would never know. But he was grateful. Undeserving, but grateful. He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew how to say thank you for this.

“Of course,” he tried to snap, though it came out as a weak, wavery hiss. Harry was hot around him, and tight, and God he would have made a gorgeous horse rider with his legs and hips…

He was torturing Draco. Half an hour, and still going…

“Of course,” he repeated, hoarse, tilting his head back to blink up at Harry. His face was helpless, soft. No one saw him like this.

“Of course,” Harry confirmed after an endless, breathless moment. He stroked Draco’s fringe back from his face, bending down to kiss his forehead. With his mouth to Draco’s temple, he said, “You’re a good man,” softly, quietly. “You can let go now. Come on.” He drew back, a little, so their eyes met. His fingers tightened in Draco’s hair, dragged his head back. His hold was as ungentle as his words were gentle. “Come on. For me.”

Draco followed. With a helpless, pained groan, his hips jerked, and he gritted his teeth against the embarrassing noise in his throat.

Harry welcomed the spill of warmth inside him, sighed in utter contentment.

It was how they were. Draco followed, and Harry welcomed all of him.


End file.
